


What is Your Worth?

by Little_RedHots_Riding_Hood



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: Chack, Depression, How Do I Tag, I mean it's angsty, I swear it's not as angsty as it sounds, Jack is Trying, M/M, Romance, Suicide Attempt, but it should get better, except Clay, the monks are all assholes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-12-25 10:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12034227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_RedHots_Riding_Hood/pseuds/Little_RedHots_Riding_Hood
Summary: Ownership is a powerful thing.The Bamboo Scales: able to exchange any two items which are equal in value, whether the aspects weighed are physical, spiritual, or otherwise. Once the trade has been made, it is final and cannot be rescinded…





	1. Quarter Life Crisis

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so this is my first story I've actually published on AO3, but I've been haunting a ton of fandoms for a while now. I also have dozens of fics written up on my laptop, but I like this one enough to actually post it, so Xiaolin Showdown shall be my first fandom. I will warn you though, dear readers, that because I've read so much (especially for this pairing), there are undoubtedly little things that I've picked up from other fics and can't help but use, like JB13 and stuff (Ash is mine, though, as are the Bamboo Scales and any cat Wu).
> 
> Anyway, this fic is going to be Jack/Chase, with a bit of a slow burn? It's sort of a non existent burn until the flame is struck and then it becomes a gradual bonfire that destroys everything within its path. Yep. And just a WARNING, the tags say depression and suicide attempt, so if that triggers anyone... umm, don't read I guess? or be careful? I legitimately don't know how to do this guys, one would think with all the reading I would but nope. I'm not going to trivialize it, because depression is serious, but in Jack's case it's not going to be an all consuming need to stop living or anything, it's more like resignation.
> 
> So, that being said, enjoy!

It had been months since Jack’s last won showdown, months since he’d so much as earned even a _derisive_ glance from the Heylin King of Darkness, Chase Young, months since he’d gone a week without being beaten within an inch of his damn life. Jack was _tired,_ but he’d been going at this for too long to be able to change.

He’d spent countless nights and hours in the medroom with DocBot thinking about how this clearly wasn’t working for him, but what could he do? Anything involving working with Wuya or any other Heylin would invariably result in him being betrayed and then tossed to the sharks (and that one night-terror inducing throw into the maws of a T-Rex), either because they couldn’t be trusted or they didn’t trust him. Which he could understand, being brought in under Wuya’s treacherous wing had left him thinking that betrayal was a normal and necessary act and by the time he’d realized that it wasn’t and was destroying his credibility, it was too late.

So working with other Heylin was pretty much out, and he didn’t have many other options. He couldn’t even hope to fight due to his Hypermobility (easily dislocated joints and increased likeliness of broken bones) and Hermansky Pudlak syndrome, symptoms of which included his poor albino eyesight (low vision, no glasses could help, but he created his goggles to help when he really needed it), platelet dysfunction (easy bruising and bleeding, which can be hard to stop), and pulmonary fibrosis (scarred lungs which made breathing a chore; if he were asked to run a 5k, it would be the literal death of him). Gods, thinking about it (and he thought way too much) it was a miracle he’d managed to live as long as he had.

And his final option was to rely on his own intellect which, despite what everyone thought, Jack Spicer really _was_ a genius. But here’s the thing: nerds, no matter how smart, still got beaten up by the jocks. Jack wasn’t meant to fight, but his robots certainly couldn’t fight for him either as he couldn’t bring himself to build a weapon that would actually _kill_ them (he was a disgrace to all evil) and no matter how much he updated them, the monks still tore them apart. And he could only afford certain materials, as he had to fund his own projects himself; his parents only deigned to let him live in the old family mansion because they never visited there and it was out of the public eye. Come his eighteenth birthday in ten months, and Jack would be out on his ass.

He usually sold a few inventions to tech companies to copyright for a bit of money, and supposed that he could sell his own tech once he was a legal adult, but Jack honestly wasn’t sure he was all that suited or willing to enter the cut-throat corporate world. Sure, he could navigate that world and it was all based on outwitting your competitors, but lately he’d been so _tired_ of everything that he just wanted to curl up and disappear.

But how to do it?

He’d been dancing to the same damn exhausting tune for the past four years, and he had no idea how to leave the game. The monks had grown, and their skill had developed as well; everyone had seemed to progress… everyone except him, that is.

He was still the laughing stock of the Xiaolin-Heylin conflict, even though he’d long-since learned not to gloat or fool around. He now gave his genuine best, without even trying to cheat in an effort to prove himself trustworthy, but nothing was working in either effort. What’s more is that he had barely grown since he was thirteen, now he was shorter than _Omi,_ which was humiliating enough.

And then… and then there was Chase Young. _Gods,_ did Jack still look up to the Heylin Dragon; Chase was _amazing,_ it seemed that no matter how much the Xiaolin Monks progressed in their training, the Heylin Lord still defeated them like it was _nothing._ But no matter how much Jack tried to show that he’d matured and was willing to put his all (weak as it might be) into being Chase’s apprentice, he wasn’t even given the time of day. And to make it even worse, that hero worship that Jack held for Chase… yeah, it was now more than that. As much as Jack knew that Chase couldn’t stand him, as much as he knew he would _never_ be acknowledged as anything more than an insect, a **_cockroach,_** let alone a possible romantic interest, the albino couldn’t help but adore the Heylin Lord.

He was just so _perfect._ He was beautiful and elegant and he _knew_ it, having a confidence that Jack could only ever hope to fake. And his strength, speed, and skill; 1500 _years_ of training left him the best warrior to ever _exist._ He was evil, so _fucking_ evil, but he also had honor, his own set of principles which just made him so much better than any other Heylin and _especially_ the Xiaolin monks, who were the very definition of hypocritical when it came to principles. He just _commanded_ respect with his very presence; as soon as he entered the room, it was indisputably clear who held the highest rank, no matter who the other occupants might be. And Chase was _smart, genius smart_ ; his plans were wicked and twisted, but always brilliant in a way that just _sung_ to Jack’s mind. There was nothing that Chase did or was that wasn’t perfect. Even his dragon form was a thing of deadly beauty, all powerful muscle and sharp claws and teeth, but no less precise and fluid in how he executed his actions.

Yes, Jack _loved_ Chase, he really did. Not just lust, not just admiration as he’d convinced himself when he was younger, _love._

But again, it wasn’t like he would ever, _ever_ have a chance with him. He was just Jack Spicer, not-so-evil still-just-a-boy genius-but-no-one-believes-it.

Nevertheless, he wanted to try just once, just one more time, to win Chase’s approval before he quit the conflict, in whatever way that might be.

So… what did Chase want?

Chase wanted to be the best warrior that ever existed.

Check.

Chase wanted Omi as an apprentice; over the years he’d make a try for the monk every now and then.

Not check, but if Chase couldn’t convince Omi, there was no way that _Jack_ could.

Chase wanted dragons for his Lao Mang Lone soup.

Maybe, if he could genetically engineer dragons to repopulate enough to provide a steady supply for Chase. Only problem was, Jack was a Master of Robotics, not BioChem. But… Ashley was. He’d have to work with her, but if he promised her enough Wu, she might be amicable to provide help.

Chase wanted Wuya out of his hair; even though he’d long since kicked her ancient ass out of his citadel, she still crept about, trying to wheedle him into giving her some Wu.

Probably not, Jack had no way of pulling Wuya away from Chase that wasn’t her temporarily focusing on some project of his and then dismissing it.

Chase wanted the population to decrease; Jack heard him musing once that the world had been so much more alive before humans began spreading and destroying it, that the magic was being killed by humans.

Jack could maybe do that. If there were less humans on Earth, there would be more room for a population of dragons and other magical creatures to thrive again. The best way that wouldn’t destroy the surrounding environment would probably be a human-affected disease. He’d have to work with Ashley again, though.

What else?

He thought for a good, long minute. There must have been something, something special which Chase wanted more than _anything else in the world_.

…

Chase wanted his soul back.

…

Well, that certainly _would_ be impressive; Jack Spicer, the disappointment of all disappointments, retrieving Chase Young’s soul from the possession of Hannibal Roy Bean. It would be _impossible._

Jack had learned a bit about Chase’s soul over the years, mostly from Hannibal, Wuya, Dojo, and Chase, himself.

Even though Hannibal owned Chase’s soul, it in no way affected Chase’s personality; if it were given back, Chase would not change in any way, except for an increase in power. That’s because possession held a lot of power in the world of magic. Although Hannibal couldn’t directly influence Chase’s actions or thoughts, the fact that he held Chase’s soul made him more powerful than Chase by default. And the spell which allowed him to own Chase’s soul was very strong and precise, just as Chase’s soul _had_ to be, to withstand the acidic, evil aura which surrounded the bean. Protective magics had to be used to keep Chase’s soul intact for so many years within the corrosive aura, and if it were removed from Hannibal’s possession, it would be fine. And so far, there was no known means of getting it away from Hannibal.

Well, he’d put that one in the wishful thinking pile.

So. Jack had a decent plan; wipe out a decent amount of the human race and repopulate the dragon race. Sure, he’d need Ashley’s help, but even with all of her cat puns, she was the easiest to work with, especially since he’d taken in one of her kittens.

It was a failed attack kitten, weak and blind and unable to grow. She’d given it to him as a cruelly joking hint, but he’d taken care of the little gray ball of fluff to the best of his abilities, programming a collar to monitor its vitals and to help it navigate its home. The collar beeped whenever the little thing got too close to anything and the kitten learned quickly, and began to thrive within Jack’s lab (no pets upstairs; his parents, on the rare, brief surprise visits were allergic and would make him get rid of little Ash). Yeah, Ash. And it was entirely coincidence that he named the cat _Ashley_ gave to him _Ash,_ the kitten’s soft, fluffy fur was just the exact shade of ashes. He had food and water bowls which Jack made sure to periodically refill himself, the previously mentioned collar with silver tags, free movement around the lab, and a thick plush nest to curl up in. Jack was proud to call that little kitten his one success, because that ball of gray fluff was pretty damn happy with his life. He was really affectionate and Jack loved to play with and pet him.

When Ashley had next stopped by and saw Jack patching up one of his bots, Ash curled up in his lap and purring away, she’d remained frozen in shock for about four minutes before quietly moving over to stand behind Jack and staring down at the happy kitten in his lap. Of course, Jack hadn’t noticed her until she’d spoken up, jumping when he’d heard, “You actually… _kept_ him.”

Luckily Ash hadn’t fallen from Jack’s lap, only being disturbed and complaining with a quiet _mew,_ which Jack quickly settled with a few gentle strokes down his back, “Well… _yeah,_ I guess. I know you meant it to be mean, but… I guess I just wanted to give this guy a little love. It’s not his fault he is the way he is, and he’s really sweet, see?”

He’d tenderly scooped the little kitten up and lifted it in front of Ashley’s face; the black collar had beeped and at first the kitten had shrunk back a bit by instinct, but then sniffed a little, curious as to what he was being presented with. It smelled familiar and after a moment, the kitten realized that it was his owner before the new, gentle one. His old owner was alright, but there were too many other cats for her to deal with (who sometimes used to attack him), and he knew he was a failure. His new owner seemed a bit out of his depth and the new home smelled of machines and was loud, but ‘Ash’ knew that he was one of his priorities. Regardless, the kitten licked his old owner (on the nose, but he didn’t know) and purred a bit louder in greeting. He hoped that she hadn’t come back to take him away from his new owner, he liked it here, machines and loud noises and all.

Ashley had frozen again at the kitten’s actions, only able to stare dumbly at Jack, who had been cooing down at the small ball of fur and gently rubbing noses with it, even more surprised when the little thing had nuzzled back.

“Yeah… _sweet…”_ She’d only been able to mumble before shuffling away and disappearing back up the stairs, whatever taunts she’d come to deliver forgotten.

She’d gone easier on him after that; instead of mocking him at every turn, after showdowns, she’d ask about Ash and give him small bits of advice on how best to take care of the kitten.

So, working with her shouldn’t be too hard, especially with the way that she’d quickly begun to fawn over Ash whenever she came over. He’d make sure to give her all of his Wu when this was all over; he might’ve felt conflicted about not giving it to Chase, but the warlord sneered every time he was offered one, stating that he had no need for the crutch of a Wu.

He’d also need to collect DNA from the few remaining dragons as a base code, so he’d need the help of Dojo, and maybe that friend of his, the con-dragon, and any other dragons that were known to exist. He wasn’t sure how to get them to agree to help, but maybe the idea that they would no longer have to worry about being on Chase Young’s menu would be enough.

Okay, let’s do this.

Jack Spicer would leave after he did one damn thing right for Chase.


	2. Win or Die Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A seemingly boring Wu activates, but Jack sees possibilities for it. Or: the chapter where everyone pretty much figures out the entire plot for this story.

Three months had passed, and all was going well with Jack’s plan.

Ashley had agreed to help, at first cautions that this was a setup, but he’d sworn on Ash’s life (the only thing she knew he was entirely serious about) that this was going to be his goodbye from the Xiaolin-Heylin conflict, and that he would give her all of his few remaining Wu. He’d even managed to get to a few Wu first and been able to avoid four showdowns entirely. They weren’t incredibly useful Wu, which was probably why the monks hadn’t come to destroy his lab yet.

But he had retrieved the Cat’s Collar, and that alone had left Ashley near salivating in happiness when he’d given it to her as a gift of good will. Like the Monkey Staff, it had the ability to give its wearer catlike features and abilities. When paired with the Cat’s Eye Pendant (not to be confused with the Cat’s Eye Draco), it could actually allow its wearer to turn into a cat at will. And since sister Wu often activated together, a week later Ashley had every bit of felineness that she could want.

Dojo had also been a great help, giving Jack a whole slew of samples from himself and just about every other dragon he knew and that they knew (it seemed that Chase Young was every dragon’s nightmare). It certainly wasn’t easy, what with the monks all too ready to beat Jack within an inch of his life if they so much as saw him, but Jack had all of the needed samples and he and Ashley were both hard at work on their two projects, which would likely be done by the end of the month.

All was going well.

And then the Bamboo Scales activated.

Jack went out of sheer curiosity, having completed all that he could at that point. Ashley was going to be by tomorrow to continue from where he’d left off, so he decided to check the Wu out. As he landed in the middle of a bamboo forest, he heard Dojo landing nearby, telling his passengers about the Wu.

“Let’s see… ah, here! The Bamboo Scales. Oh! I remember _these!_ Yeah, Dashi did some traveling, so a lot of times he had to settle some dispute or another as he was passing through some areas. He got pretty sick of angry farmers yelling at him that this wasn’t worth that, so he made these to work out fair exchanges. Heh, they still yelled at him, though. _I_ wanted to call them the Switch-a-Wu, but he said that that was stupid. Can you believe it? _Dashi_ , who once named a Wu the Shen-Ga-Wu, said that _my_ idea was ridiculous!”

The monks might have responded to Dojo’s story, but Jack was already off, looking for the Scales. _A fair exchange, huh?_ The beginnings of a once impossible plan were already forming in his mind, but he’d need to get more information, and most importantly, get the Wu.

He finally found them wedged deep in a bamboo stalk, and it took him a good three minutes of grunting and pulling to get them out. Unfortunately, his struggle got him some attention from the monks and just as he finally pulled them free, Clay touched the other end with a chuckle, “Hey, Jack. Haven’t seen you ‘round here in a while.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy. So, are we gonna do this or what?”

“Alright, I challenge you to a Xiaolin Showdown, my–”

“Look Clay, I don’t have any Wu on me right now; this was a bit of short notice. How about we just do this without Wu?”

“Well, I’ve always believed in a fair fight. Alright Jack, I challenge you to a no Wu Xiaolin Showdown! The challenge is: whoever stays on top of the bamboo the longest wins!”

“I accept your challenge, Clay.”

“XIAOLIN SHOWDOWN!”

The next moments were absolute terror as Jack knew they would be; of course the already tall bamboo forest would double in height, of course they would be forced to hop from one shaft to another, of course he’d have a much harder time than the cowboy monk. But he’d be _damned_ if he didn’t win this Wu. He put every drop of concentration into steadily hopping from one moving shaft to another, ignoring Clay’s slang and banter.

Most showdowns were fairly short, the average length being about five minutes.

This one was lasting half an hour.

Clay was keeping up easily, skipping around the stalks with a relaxed grin as though it were nothing. It probably was, given all of the hours the monks spent training.

Jack? Jack was dying. His limbs were shaking with exhaustion and he was panting heavily. But he was still going.

Only now it looked like he’d lose…

Thanks to his infamous bad luck, Jack had jumped onto a stalk and all of the stalks around it either shifted away, or disappeared into the darkness below. The closest one had been four feet away.

He’d jumped, and just barely made it.

Jack was now dangling over the darkness, gripping the top of the stalk with his fingertips. Little bamboo splinters were cutting into his fingers and his left arm throbbed, almost certainly dislocated, but he still wouldn’t give up _dammit._ He _had_ to get this Wu.

Clay, seeing Jack’s distress, hopped over, “Jack, you sure that you wanna keep goin’? You look pretty beat up and your hands look like they have more splinters than the family barn. You’re killin’ yourself, and I don’t–”

“I’m _not_ giving up, Clay. I _won’t_ lose this one, even if it kills me.”

Jack stared directly into the largest monk’s eyes, conveying his determination and sincerity. Clay saw it and sighed, “Then I guess I got no choice. I’m not exactly leapin’ to see you pushin’ up daisies anytime soon.”

“Heh, thanks.”

The Texan monk only smiled at Jack before stepping off of the stalk and dropping into the darkness below; honestly, it looked _terrifying._

But before he could hear the anticipated sound of impact, the environment became normal once more. The Bamboo Scales appeared in Jack’s hand and he quickly looked around to make sure that Clay really was alright. He spotted him about twenty feet away, surrounded by his fellow monks who were tearing into him for throwing the showdown.

This was why Jack liked Clay the most out of the monks. The albino had snuck into the Xiaolin vaults and read many of the sacred scrolls about Xiaolin teachings, and the Texan monk seemed to be the only one to even come close to following the Xiaolin code. Clay at least had his own morals and a good heart (as much as the words made Jack want to gag). Even without his genius mind, Jack could easily see how the others would have handled the showdown. For one, they probably would have tried to sabotage Jack’s efforts from the beginning, rather than letting him try to just stay up on his own like Clay did. And if he had gotten in the same position with any of them that he did with Clay, they wouldn’t even consider civility or reasoning.

Omi would sit on a nearby pole and watch with an arrogant smirk on his face and wait for Jack’s grip to give, with probably triple the number of splinters now digging in.

Rai wouldn’t take such a passive, patient approach; he’d try to shake the pole with either his foot or his wind abilities and knock Jack off, leering and laughing the whole time.

Kimiko would be the worst. She was always needlessly aggressive, and she would have been direct and cruel, stepping right onto his fingers and grinding down with her foot, sneering down at him. _Gods,_ he could just imagine the bloody _mess_ his hands would have been.

Yeah, he liked Clay the best, and before he flew away with the Wu (before they decided that he hadn’t won fairly and that they should take the Wu anyway and give Jack a good beating while they were at it), he flashed the cowboy a grateful smile, seeing a glimpse of one in return as the Texan assured his companions that ‘the Scales weren’t that important anyway, what diabolical use would Jack Spicer have for them?’

Two things, Jack thought of as he flew home. One, he was impressed with _diabolical,_ as Clay was not a man of many words (but he _was_ a man, pushing seven feet). And two, the use that he very well _might_ have for the Bamboo Scales, if his hopes were correct. He’d need to fish for some more information, but he couldn’t just ask anyone, nor was he sure that he’d actually get an answer or that anyone would even know. He’d need the Fountain of Hui and the Eagle Scope to get his answers.

But they were in the possession of Chase Young.

_Shit._

Little did he know of the crow watching him from a single bamboo stalk, its master having seen the entire set of events.

Chase was impressed by Spicer’s resolve, but not all that much. The boy had fallen beneath his lowest expectations long ago, and Chase had seen no need to reevaluate his opinion any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, you have no ides how very CLOSE I was to calling the Bamboo Scales the Switch-a-Wu. I love puns and all, but that one HURT me.


	3. Questions and Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack comes up with a plan.

Well, here he was, two days later, hovering before the volcano which held Chase’s citadel.

Ashley was still back at his lab, taking a ‘cat nap’ with Ash. He’d – _hopefully_ – be back in time to make some quick dinner for the two scientists to eat before the genetic coding machine he’d created was through testing their fourth batch of trial codes.

Jack had taken the opportunity to come here, in hopes of asking Chase for the temporary use of his Wu. He’d racked his brain for the past day trying to find some bargaining chip or way to appease Chase before asking, but he had nothing. So, giving up, he decided to just ask, politely.

Unfortunately, the warlord’s front door was still charmed to _crush_ Jack by whatever means necessary if he got within a certain distance. The best he could hope to do was to knock and then fly away as fast as he possibly could and hope that it would open without trying to kill him.

Steeling his nerves, he did just that, pushing his heli-pack to its limits as he just narrowly missed being crushed by at least a ton of rock. He then hovered just beyond what seemed to be the door’s attack range, waiting for some sort of response, be it a possible allowance to enter, or vicious cats being released to chase him away.

Luckily for Jack, Chase was in a particularly good mood today, not having seen that pest of a harpy, Wuya, for going on three days, and so he decided to be magnanimous and allow Jack in to state his reason for coming around as he hadn’t tried in almost a year.

The stone door slowly opened and Jack turned off his heli-pack, his booted feet landing on stone as he cautiously hoped that this wasn’t some sort of trick where the door delivered a surprise attack. Once he was past the door, he turned his attention to the figure at the top of the vast set of stairs before him and respectfully kneeled.

The warlord raised a single brow at this and drawled in a bored tone, “What do you want, Spicer? I am in a rare good mood today, so just make it quick.”

“Chase, s-sir. I-I was hoping if you would allow me to… t-to use two of your Wu. N-Not steal any! I swear,” he hurried to add on as he saw slitted, golden eyes narrow, “I just want to know some things – a-about souls, my own especially, that I don’t think that anyone would be able to tell me. I-I don’t have anything to offer you, but… I just respectfully ask your permission to use the Fountain of Hui and the Eagle Scope. I-I wouldn’t even ask to use them outside of your supervision.”

It was silent for a moment as Chase thought about Spicer’s request. He was telling the truth; his heartbeat remaining the steady, if not heightened by fear, pulse the whole way through. It would be no real trouble to himself, and he didn’t really think about demanding some payment, as the boy had nothing to offer which Chase wanted.

“Very well, worm. Follow me.”

Luckily for Jack, the warlord leapt off of the landing at the top of the stairs and landed next to him with all of the grace of a cat, sparing him from an undoubtedly humiliating walk up the stairs (he didn’t dare do anything as disrespectful as using his heli-pack within the citadel).

Both boy and warlord were silent as the latter led the former through multiple twists and turns which he would never remember. Jack didn’t speak because he didn’t want to do or say anything to upset or irritate the dragon and lose this opportunity; Chase just didn’t see the point in conversing with someone so far beneath himself.

At long last, they finally reached an unassuming door, which wasn’t really saying much, because it was heavily armored and likely enchanted as well, but so had been many other doors that they had passed on the way there. Chase, however, opened the door as easily as if it were made of plywood.

They stepped into the room, and immediately the iron door swung shut behind them, throwing them into pitch darkness. Luckily, before Jack could so much as let out a whimper at the dark, torches were magically lit, casting the room in a steady glow and revealing its contents.

The most powerful, dangerous, and rarest Wu were apparently kept in this room, and for a moment Jack marveled at the honor that he would be allowed in here. He heard Chase clearing his throat behind him and spun around to see him standing beside two Wu in particular.

The Fountain of Hui and the Eagle Scope.

With slow steps, Jack moved to stand in front of them, looking to Chase for permission and upon seeing his nod activated the Wu.

“Fountain of Hui, Eagle Scope.”

Everything outside disappeared and he focused on his questions.

_What would happen if I switched my soul for Chase’s?_

**_Chase Young would remain immortal, with all of his abilities. His soul would appear in a physical manifestation, likely a small stone beside your body, which would slowly die without a soul occupying it._ **

_Why would my body die, and what would happen to my soul?_

**_The body cannot exist without the soul within; Chase Young’s dragon form keeps him alive by maintaining a connection with his soul. Your body would die, likely quicker due to its feebleness. As would your soul, as it would go to Hannibal Roy Bean in the place of Chase Young's, without the protection from the demon's aura that his soul has._ **

_…_

_What would happen if my soul dies?_

**_You will cease to exist in your entirety. Your corpse will exist physically, but everything that makes you Jack Spicer will no longer be. You will not be reincarnated, you will not have any spirit or afterlife._ **

_Can I even exchange my soul for Chase’s? Is my soul worth his?_

**_It was not before, but that you now know you will not exist if you choose to proceed has value in itself, and is now on par with the value of Chase Young’s soul._ **

_… Is this the right thing to do?_

**_This question cannot be answered. Right and wrong are subjective._ **

_So,_ Jack mused as he lowered the Eagle Scope from his eyes, _If I go through with this, I’ll just be… gone._

Chase must’ve seen something in his expression, _what,_ Jack had no idea, but it provoked a rare act of kindness from the dragon as he simply set the Wu down and escorted Jack out of the room and then out of his citadel without another word.

Jack felt numb as he returned home, unsure how to react to the fact that he would no longer exist if he actually managed to exchange Chase’s soul for his own. Of course he was afraid of what would pretty much be his death, everyone feared their own end. But… as he landed outside of his home and looked around the empty house… he wondered what exactly he had to live for.

His family barely acknowledged him out of shame, he had no real friends (Ashley was the closest and even she didn’t quite count, as he knew she was in it for the Wu), his idol and unrequited crush pretty much detested his very existence, and the only living being that cared for him was his kitten. His Jack bots were practically programmed to like him, given emotion chips and AI to try to fill the gaps where he craved the company of others.

Jack was alone, and he was pretty fucking miserable. It had been better in the past few months, but wasn’t that because he knew that he’d be done with all of this soon? And what better way to be done with this, than to be done with _everything?_ Jack couldn’t ever really see a future for himself, so why not fulfill that little prophecy and just end it? After all, wouldn’t it be a pretty elegant way to die? Giving up his soul and life just so that Chase would be happy? And even if Chase was pissed at him for taking that victory away, or even worse, _still_ unimpressed and dismissive of Jack, well, Jack wouldn’t be around to see it, now would he?

By the time that he’d pulled a pizza out of the oven and began carrying it into his lab to set on a workbench, moving to pull two sodas from his mini-fridge and nudging Ashley awake on the way back, he was actually feeling pretty good about his decision. He’d do it as soon as they had completed this endeavor and the rest of the world would be dying right along with him.

Pretty damn poetic, if you asked Jack.


	4. The Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the end, but still sad, maybe?

So… it was time…

Jack had everything all set up and ready to go.

The projects had been completed just yesterday, and Ashley had already left, toting every Wu he’d managed to win (barring the Monkey Staff; she said it was more his thing) and thanking him on the way out, already having taken one of the only two antidotes to the otherwise incurable, untraceable virus. Jack had the other, but he had no intention of taking it. Ashley didn’t need to know that, though, and when she tossed him a cheerful ‘see you later when we are the last two standing’, he waved back with a smile, knowing he’d be long dead before she thought to check up on him.

All that was left was to activate the Bamboo Scales and then… that was it. He already had a package ready to be sent to Chase. It contained the keys to the vast, underground containment facility he’d had his Jackbots build years ago and finally found a use for: holding rows upon rows of genetically varying species of dragons, more than plenty to repopulate the Earth’s dragon race and just as intelligent as any natural dragon. They would blend seamlessly with the few remaining natural dragons, and hopefully the race would just continue. The problem before had been too many humans hunting dragons combined with the mating periods coming only once every hundred years or so, lengthening as the dragon matured until it was once every thousand years.

Also in the box would be several vials of the virus, clear and untraceable. Jack had a feeling the warlord would enjoy signing the human race’s death warrant personally, so he included a small set of instructions to pour the virus into water sources and watch the magic happen, assuring that anything but humans would not be affected. It was in a clearly marked separate vial that he included the other antidote, with another note that simply said “ _I’m not sure if this would affect you or not, so just in case, here is the only antidote._ ”

There was a small, silk-lined area in the box for whatever small object would represent Chase’s soul, and then one final note, containing Jack’s final words.

Beside the first box was a larger one, filled with Ash’s bed, said kitten dozing peacefully amongst the blankets. As Jack allowed himself one final pet to the kitten’s soft gray fur, tears began spilling down his cheeks. He’d miss this little ball of fluff more than anything, the only living creature to show him genuine, unreserved affection, no strings attached.

And _gods,_ was he _afraid._

He tried to keep his sobs quiet as he gently closed Ash’s box, making sure that it had plenty of holes, before turning to his last remaining active Jackbot.

“Once I am gone, an object will appear. Place it in this box and then deliver _both_ boxes to Chase Young as _safely_ as you can.”

“YES SIR.”

“Good… and JB13?”

His oldest intact bot hovered, waiting for him to continue.

“You were the best bot I could’ve hoped to make… once you’ve completed your delivery, come back here and deactivate yourself as well.”

“YES SIR, GOODBYE MASTER JACK. YOU WERE A GOOD MASTER.”

A tearful smile, “Cut the sentimental crap, JB13. We both know that’s a lie.”

“YES, IT IS.”

Jack surprised himself with a wet laugh. He was so damn _proud_ of his bots, of the level of AI he’d managed to work into them. That they could even understand humor and empathize was nothing short of amazing, but it also meant that they would understand and feel sadness when their creator, master, and charge left them, so he had to deactivate them and spare them the experience. He was sorry that JB13 had to go through this though, but it was his most trusted creation, he would entrust this task to no other. Deactivation would be like the robot equivalent of going to sleep, but they wouldn’t wake until Jack Spicer himself woke them, and he knew that he’d never be able to. So, in a way, he was murdering his own creations…

Okay, he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about this right now. He had to go through with this now or he’d never be able to bring up the courage again.

“Bamboo Scales.”

The Wu lit up and Jack gulped, tears streaming down his face.

“I-I offer my own soul in exchange for the soul of Chase Young, knowing that it will be destroyed if I succeed.”

Nothing, for the briefest of seconds.

And then a moment where he felt that every bit of oxygen had been sucked from his lungs and he couldn’t pull any more in.

And then darkness.

…

The body of Jack Spicer collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, a smooth, perfectly cut jade stone lying beside it.

The Jackbot did not dare look at its master as it solemnly retrieved the stone and placed it in the box, closing the package and setting off for the Land of Nowhere.

* * *

 

Chase allowed the Jackbot into his citadel, curious as to its purpose here without its creator.

But the robot only removed two boxes from its chest cavity, before turning and flying back off the way it came.

Chase was now interested, especially when he sensed life from the larger box which began meowing quietly.

It was this box that he opened first, finding a small gray kitten, stumbling around in confusion and releasing little, panicked mews, small nostrils flaring. It clearly scented all of his warriors, and was understandably frightened. He settled it with a few soft noises and a muttered sleeping spell, before turning to the other box. Why Spicer would send him a _kitten_ of all things was beyond him. Did the boy intend it as some sort of poorly thought out joke?

Once he’d lifted the lid of the second box, however, he froze, eyes locked on the small piece of jade nestled in silk in one corner.

His soul.

This was his, Chase Young’s, _soul._

Why, in the names of all the gods, would _Jack Spicer_ be sending him his soul?

He spotted a folded letter covering several other objects and unfolded it, his eyes scanning the page.

_Chase,_

_I know that you probably won’t care as you read this letter, but I’m now pretty much dead. It’ll probably be a process for my physical body to die, too, but regardless, I’m gone. If you’ve seen the contents of this box, one item in particular should tell you why. I’m going to give you your soul back, and if you receive this letter… then I’ve succeeded. I’m using the Bamboo Scales, and the Fountain of Hui told me that it would work, so… here’s hoping. But it also told me that my body would die, and my soul would be destroyed, so I can’t give it back to you in person. Sorry. It’s a good thing I never believed in anything about an afterlife, I guess; this’ll just be like what I expected: nothing._

_I guess I should probably tell you why, though you probably don’t care anyway, assuming you’ve even bothered to read this far. Well… here it goes… I love you, Chase. I know, I know. How dare a pathetic worm such as myself have the audacity to disrespect you in such a way as to proclaim my worthless love to you, right? Yeah. You can’t blame me though, I can’t help that you’re just so perfect I’ve fallen in love with you. And it really_ is _love, Chase. You know how much of a spineless coward I am, do you think I’d just cease existing for anyone?_

 _Huh, I think knowing that I’ll be too far for anything, including_ you, _to get to me when you read this is making me bold. Oh well._

 _Speaking of bold, I have a genuine favor to ask of you Chase. As you can see, you’ve received two boxes. This one, and one with a small, gray kitten inside. His name is Ash. Please,_ please _Chase, take care of him. He’s weak and blind, and I guess to you he might be useless, but he’s really the sweetest thing. His collar beeps to help him navigate, but if it irritates you and you know a better way to help him, please remove it and do that instead. If you don’t want him, you can give him to Ashley – Katnappe – but I worry that her other kittens will attack him._

_..._

_I don’t really know what else to say… So, I guess this is goodbye? I’ve done my best to make you happy with the contents of this box, and I hope you find everything that you are looking for, I really do._

_Goodbye Chase, I love you,_

_Jack Spicer_


	5. Disconcerting Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chase POV, enjoy babes :3

Chase Young had experienced much in his long, never-ending life. He’d seen empires rise and fall, followed the evolution of humanity, and met _millions_ of people, be they new generations of monks, minor players of the Heylin variety, other supernatural creatures, or simple humans when he walked among them.

That being said, the dragonlord believed that he had experienced everything there was to experience. The years had become fairly monotonous (not that he was thinking of ending it any time soon), and it became a cycle of rule his citadel, meet new monks, beat new monks and any other adversaries even as they trained and developed, watch new monks become old and die if they live long enough to reach old age, wait for next generation several years later, peruse humanity for any new developments, lather-rinse-repeat.

He had a few constants such as his warriors, and other immortals like Guan and Dojo, and Wuya and Hannibal had returned, but the world was becoming somewhat… _stale._

And then Jack Spicer came crashing into his life and literally falling into his lap. The boy had recognized him immediately and Chase had himself a fanboy. But this was nothing new, he’d had many admirers through the years, and Spicer’s fawning quickly crossed the line from ego-stroking to exasperating, falling to flat-out _vexing_ when it became obvious that the albino was a failure in every right.

Spicer could not follow the simplest of orders without botching them somehow; he had no honor whatsoever to speak of; he had equally little skill in fighting; he was juvenile; he was obnoxious; the list could go on and on. To sum Jack Spicer up in one phrase: the boy was an embarrassment to the name of evil, to the Heylin, and by extension, to Chase Young, himself.

This was Chase’s assessment, and he was quite satisfied with paying no mind to the boy until Jack Spicer, too, was lost to the passage of time.

* * *

Until one of the boy’s robots delivered his soul, along with a virus to kill off the majority of the human race, the key to an endless supply of dragons, and a blind grey kitten.

As loathe as he was to admit it, he must have miscalculated in his evaluation of the albino, for the contents of those two boxes spoke of a very different person than his image of Jack Spicer. They presented a deeply devoted young man who made use of his intelligence, fortune, and very _soul_ in an effort to make the warlord happy… who committed existential suicide for _him._

At first, Chase had doubted the authenticity of the letter and its accompanying gifts, believing them to be a farce, a ploy to get Spicer in his good graces. So, he sent a warrior to retrieve the Fountain of Hui and the Eagle Scope to ascertain their validity. While the little jade stone certainly _looked_ and _felt_ like his soul, Chase Young had not survived for 1500+ years by blindly believing every gesture of ‘goodwill’. Possibilities ranged from a cursed stone to just a plain piece of jade with some of his magic woven through it.

But it wasn’t either of those, he found. It was his soul. The Wu proved the stone and other gifts as genuine.

Next, Chase questioned the means through which Spicer had claimed to go through to obtain the items. Surely _Jack Spicer_ had not the bravery nor the loyalty to sacrifice himself for another; perhaps this was part of some traitorous plot with Hannibal, Chase’s defeat the desired outcome…

But no, once again the Wu in his hands negated any of his suspicions. Jack had indeed used the Bamboo Scales and bartered his soul for Chase’s own.

And yet Chase could not reconcile these actions with the cockroach he’d known for the past few years, the two utterly incongruous within his mind.

... But had he truly known him?

The thought unsettled him the more he focused upon it and realized its weight. It implied an inexcusable lack of attentiveness on the warlord’s part; that he did not, in fact know every facet of the boy’s personality, no matter how inconsequential he had deemed him. For Spicer was apparently _not_ the bumbling buffoon he’d been perceived as and, had he different inclinations, might’ve proved himself a very _real_ threat to Chase. Had the boy worked further to preserve his own soul or used another’s (or several other’s) as collateral, he would have obtained power over Chase himself.

And looking back through the past few months, the warlord berated himself further for not noticing the now obvious changes in Spicer’s behavior. He became distinctly more withdrawn, attending less showdowns, and actually winning some of the few he did participate in. Not to mention the _singular_ visit to Chase in that entire period. The lack of the boy’s presence should have been telling enough, and yet he’d allowed himself to be complacent with the perceived _peace_ rather than what the albino might have been doing _instead_ of bothering him. But could he have really allowed the boy to inquire his Wu about _souls_ without a thought as to _why,_ to _what end_?

Yes, though it sickened him to admit it, Chase had been _foolish_ in regards to Jack Spicer.

He counted himself blessed by the – _evil_ – gods that it had not led to his ruin, rather to his gain.

Another aspect Chase had underestimated when it came to Spicer: his affections for the warlord. Oh, Chase _knew_ that the boy pined after him, that he worshipped the ground he walked on, but the elder thought it little more than a silly obsession, something pathetic and trite to be met with derision and disgust.

But this was an act of _love._

By the gods, this boy _adored_ him.

It would seem that for all of the experiences that Chase had ever had, there were still those unknown to him. _Love,_ was one such emotion.

Its darker twin he was well acquainted with. Like his body and wits, lust was a well sharpened tool which he used with lethal accuracy. He’d shared a bed (and every other conceivable surface) with many a man, woman, and other, indulging in sins of the flesh with great relish. He’d even known a sort of fondness for an exceptional few.

But _love?_

Love seemed inconceivable for one such as him; he did not believe himself capable of loving nor being loved by another. He was a _dragon,_ a _Heylin King_ ; tender emotions had no _place_ around him. _Especially_ in the case of Spicer, what with all of the abuse and scorn that the warlord rained down upon him when he so much as bothered to acknowledge his existence. How could love grow in _anyone_ under such circumstances?

Then again… Jack Spicer tended to contradict the norm in everything else; why should this be any different?

Truly, the boy was like no other…

No doubt there wouldn’t be another like him for centuries, if ever…

Well then, Chase certainly wasn’t going to waste such a rare creature with the ability to love him despite everything that should result in the opposite. The desire to know _how_ was quickly developing into a _need_ within the warlord’s mind; monsters – even intelligent, worldly monsters such as himself – rarely understood love. Until this moment he’d simply ignored the idea of it entirely, deeming it an emotion which he would never come in contact with but now, with physical proof of it sitting before him, cradled in his _palm,_ the thought intrigued him.

And even if he still found the boy detestable after saving him, he could just consider the rescue thanks and payment for returning his soul to him.

There still remained the question of whether or not there was still time for Jack to _be_ saved; the Wu informed him that what might have been 22 hours in which to challenge Hannibal for the boy’s soul and defeat him was now 10, as Hannibal had surely noticed the exchange as well and was now working away at destroying Jack’s soul in a fit of anger. Likewise, his already weak physical form had less time than it might have had it been in good health. But Chase could likely extend those 8 hours with magic if he got to the body quickly and began slowing the deterioration immediately.

Resolve settling in his mind Chase teleported to Jack’s laboratory under the Spicer Mansion; he was going to save the boy, if only just to find out how Jack could _possibly_ come to _love_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, gonna be honest. If it were anywhere near April 1st, I would have not HESISTATED in posting a fake chapter where Chase just reads the letter, shrugs, tosses it aside, tosses ASH to his warriors, and continues on in his existence with his soul. And I'd only feel guilty about killing off Ash. Hate me if you so choose.


	6. Saving a Spicer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Got this in right in time to say HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!  
> Chase goes to get Jack's soul back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just gonna warn any squeamish people, this chapter will have some violence/gore. If you want, I'll tag it, but I personally don't think that it's that bad plus I'm pretty sure everyone will be silently cheering, so... :p Also some VERY briefly mentioned rape? But seriously, emphasis on the brief.

He found the boy nearly immediately upon appearing in the lab.

The sight of Jack’s limp body on the floor was jarring in a way that Chase hadn’t expected; so used to seeing the albino in motion whether it be flailing in a bid for attention or running away from the danger that said obnoxiousness provoked. But now he was so still – so _quiet_ – that it gave the warlord a chance to fully take in his features.

Though Chase hadn’t noticed it during Jack’s visit, the boy’s natural hair color was peeking through at the roots – a white lighter than the lightest shade of blond. Glassy ruby eyes stared sightlessly forward unblinking, uncomprehending…

He looked like a porcelain doll, little and fragile, abandoned and broken, though Chase could see no cracks. This image was only strengthened by the way the boy was lying in a small crumpled heap, as though some reckless, thoughtless child had left him carelessly discarded upon the ground.

His body had already begun the process of dying. Though the stark, clinical white lab lights might have lent his normally white skin that unhealthy pallor, Chase could hear Jack’s heart slowing slightly by the minute, the blood moving sluggishly through the visible shadows of his veins.

It was unacceptable.

Gentler than he’d ever even _thought_ to handle the boy before, Chase knelt and scooped Jack into his arms, barely glancing further around the silent basement before bringing them back to his citadel and settling the pale youth in a bedroom across from his own. Jack didn’t make a sound as he was changed swiftly out of his own worn clothes and into silk sleeping garments and then laid on the plush bed, just staring up at the ornate canopy of the bed and not seeing any of it. As Chase pulled the heavy duvet up over him, he softly drew pale lids tipped with snowy lashes over those dull eyes and was suddenly struck with the thought that the boy looked like some gothic Sleeping Beauty.

Shaking away the wandering thoughts, he straightened and any softness that might’ve been present was gone; he set about casting the spell to slow the fading process. And then it was time to defeat Hannibal once and for all; any distractions could and likely _would_ result in Chase’s own downfall instead.

Taking a centering breath, he teleported to Hannibal’s current location: a stretch of wasteland, nothing but miles of dead soil where nothing could grow or survive. The perfect place for Bean, whom he spotted in the distance. The bean was furiously attacking something small in his hand (stem? root?) as he approached. Jack’s soul no doubt. This was only confirmed when upon acknowledging his former-apprentice’s arrival, Hannibal magicked the item away. He glared at the dragon with all of the hate of the demon that he was, clearly raring for a fight.

“Tell me _boy,_ how long have you and little Jack Spicer been doing the horizontal mambo? Was this all some elaborate plan to get your soul back? Fuck the kid and fuel his little fanboy crush on you, then have him give up his soul for yours? I never thought that the _Great Chase Young_ would ever let himself sink so low as to start using such cheap tactics. Looks like there’s hope for you yet!”

He was baiting the dragon.

“But why are you here now, hmm? Come to strike while the iron is hot; think you can catch me off guard with the transfer? Or might you want your boy toy back? Means he’s either a fantastic lay or _someone’s_ beginning to get _feelings…”_ he squints at the other as though looking for something, then his eyes go exaggeratedly wide as he chuckles a mocking, “Oh! Is that it, Chase? Do you _love_ little Jackie?”

Chase remained silent as he continued standing there, ever watchful. Seeing that the dragon would not rise to the bait, Hannibal snarled and charged; Chase was transformed in a fraction of a second and the dance began.

The fight went on for several hours, neither side giving any ground; not a single hit landed on either, for they knew that one strike could be the first in a chain that would lead to their defeat and ultimately, their death.

 _Finally,_ the demon slipped up, and Chase did not hesitate in taking advantage of the opening. His clawed right hand, swift and deadly, shot forward, straight through Hannibal’s torso (or what passed for it), grasping the bean’s heart and pushing out through the other side.

A startled laugh drew his eyes up to Bean’s face, where, looking into those sickly eyes, Chase noted that Hannibal wasn’t really startled at all. _How could he be?_ His mind drawled. As a powerful demon and a seasoned fighter, the other had to have immediately recognized his mistake as Chase did, but wasn’t able to correct it in time before the dragon had acted.

Slowly, for he could take his time now and relish the brief flash of pain flickering across Hannibal’s face, knowing that meant he was in utter agony, Chase withdrew his hand, still clutching Bean’s heart. If one could call it that, rotted as it was. The grey-green organ pulsed sluggishly, an oily black substance oozing with every contraction. It flowed faster every time Chase’s hand gave a cruel, teasing squeeze.

“I feel I must offer you some last words, but please make it quick. You know that I am in a hurry.”

“Little brat,” Bean spat out, greasy spittle flecking on Chase’s face, “Should’ve eaten you all those years ago. Should’ve eaten that scrawny little albino, too,” here a malicious, ugly sneer crossed the bean’s face, “Maybe should’ve fucked him first. Tell me Chase, how’s your little lover boy in bed? Bet I could’ve made him cry, scream like a little bit–ghck!”

“I’m sorry,” Chase hissed at the figure now collapsed on the ground, spasming and choking in agony from the hand now crushing his heart mercilessly, “But you were taking too long. And I will not tolerate slander upon the boy. He is mine.”

He gave the still writhing demon a considering glance and smirked, “In fact, I believe it is time that I returned to him. I suppose this is goodbye Bean; I will give Wuya your regards.”

Without giving the other a chance to respond, he was bringing the rotted heart up to his jaws and biting down into the spoiled meat. It was absolutely _foul,_ the putrid stench of it and the vile taste were hell for his enhanced senses, but he resolutely tore at the flesh between his teeth and swallowed, then tossed the rest of the heart into his maw and repeated the process. It was the only way to ensure Hannibal’s death and that Chase would receive all of his power and possessions. If he were to simply crush the heart, there was a high chance that the demon would simply recover and return; he was sure that Bean had hoped he would be so foolish.

He could _feel_ Hannibal’s rancid, corrupt power flowing into him and his own magic (with the help of the magic from his dragon form, as it took quite a bit) changing it, turning it into _pure_ evil. Not in the way one would think, as turning it into “total” evil, but rather… _decontaminating_ it. He could also feel the transfer of countless treasures and magics to him, their new owner; but there was only one in particular which he was concerned with at the moment.

_Jack’s soul._

Calling it to him, he felt a small weight settle in his unbloodied left hand and delicately lifted it for inspection.

A black opal, how fitting. One of the rarest gems in the world, yet also quite delicate and beautiful. Chase’s own soul was, according to humans, “Imperial Translucent Black Omphacite-Jadeite Jade”, quite the mouthful. Incredibly rare, and incredibly strong.

Chase might have wondered _how_ the boy’s soul could have even been _close_ to matching his in worth, but seeing this stone quickly cleared the matter for him. Chase’s soul might have been _powerful,_ but Jack’s was _pure._ That the boy willingly relinquished it for another whereas Chase sold his for personal gain made Jack’s soul, well… _priceless._ And Chase was holding the little thing in his hand, feeling a faint pulse from it, almost like a heartbeat.

But it didn't look quite _right._ It seemed much too small and weathered down; the edges weren't smooth, but pockmarked and it looked as though it had been eaten away at. As if it'd had acid poured onto it and parts had been corroded away. Seeing as how it had been in Hannibal's possession, that likely wasn't too far off. He would need to get it back into Jack quickly to begin the healing process.

With a single thought, Chase was back in his citadel, in Jack’s room, standing right beside the bed where the near-lifeless body lay. Despite the steady stream of magics keeping Jack alive, Chase’s chest gave a painful little squeeze, right in the same place Jack’s heart stuttered… it was so very slow, so very quiet… he had acquired a haunting _rasp_ to his every breath now as well…

Chase would be _damned_ if he was going to let him slip away _now._

Muttering several spells to help him along, Chase poured more magic into Jack as he set the black opal in the middle of the shallowly breathing chest, willing it slowly back into the boy’s body. Once it was returned he magicked away his dragon form and the blood flecking his scales, leaving him in soft black garments, and settled into a plush seat beside the bed.

All he could do now was wait and hope.

It was ironic that now, when he finally had more power than ever before, he’d never felt so powerless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy it? HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!  
> (was almost gonna call this chapter: "Getcha soul back, Jack!" .... but that was kind dorky, and it's Chase doing the soul retrieving)
> 
> Yeah, I know that the soul descriptions (especially Chase's) are lengthy and ridiculously specific and kinda sloppily put in. But I spent TWO HOURS trying to find accurate representations for their souls and I'll be DAMNED if a long but accurate name gets in my way when I find just the right one. I will FORCE them on you. 
> 
> [Jack's soul](https://www.opal.asn.au/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/What-is-Black-Opal-1.jpg)  
> [Chase's soul](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/l8WCeeMwiMM/maxresdefault.jpg)  
> (not necessarily the Buddha, but just the stone itself)


	7. "Welcome Back, Jack"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you spend several centuries researching on how to retrieve your own soul from a demon-bean, you tend to pick up quite a bit of extra knowledge about souls in general.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically just a lot of Chase-thinking-confused-warlord-thoughts. Enjoy!

Two days later, Jack Spicer returned to the world of the living.

Well, Chase was using the term ‘living’ rather loosely, but the boy was now _conscious_ at the very least. In the 52 hours spent waiting for Jack to awaken, Chase had scarcely budged from his sentry at the boy’s bedside. The few times he had to go attend to his physical needs, he left his most trusted warriors watching over the boy, even then only able to stay away for a few moments before his thoughts inevitably drifted back to the sleeping albino and whether his condition had changed in his absence.

Was this _love_? This continual… _presence_ of the boy in his mind? He could not recall ever being so… _aware_ of another before; as though he desired – no - _needed_ to know the other’s exact condition and that said condition was favorable. The dragon contemplated this new development as he sat next to the sleeping goth and came to the conclusion that if this was what signified love, then it was _inconvenient._

Was he certain that he actually wanted this? Did he truly desire love if it meant always forgoing part of his concentration to the boy? How was he to accomplish anything with thoughts of Jack Spicer constantly hovering at the edges of his mind?

Yet despite the doubt growing within him, Chase remained by Jack’s bedside, watching the now steady rise and fall of his thin chest under the many blankets. Jack’s physical condition had steadily improved throughout the first day, but he still slept on, with brief moments of pseudo-consciousness. The first time such an incident had occurred, Chase had immediately stood upon making eye contact with half lidded crimson; unprepared for such a swift recovery and experiencing an uncertainty that had been long-foreign to him. Before he could have found something to say, he’d realized that the boy’s eyes were simply staring blankly ahead, a repeat of Jack’s gaze when Chase had first found him in his lab. His heart had maintained the slowed cadence of sleep. Jack hadn’t been awake. A few seconds later his eyes had slipped closed once more.

This happened several times.

But this occasion was different. This time the rhythm of his pulse sped up slightly, his eyes flickered lightly behind his lids, and his body shifted weakly before his eyes slid open. If the other actions weren’t indication enough that Jack was finally awake, those blood-red eyes were aware, if more than a little hazy. They drifted around the unlit room, clearly confused at the dark, unfamiliar surroundings. He of course didn’t see Chase in the shadows beside the bed until the warlord snapped his fingers and a fire crackled to life within the fireplace on the far side of the room.

Jack’s eyes, sensitive both from the prior darkness and his own albinism, immediately flew shut, tearing up at the sudden brightness. Blinking them away, his vision gradually adjusted, and he saw that he was in a lavish bedroom decorated in shades of red and gold. And then he saw Chase.

In the past, Chase would have described Jack Spicer as an open book; his face hid nothing. Now, though, watching the emotions – _thoughts_ – playing across his face and expressed through body signals like a story being read out loud to him, the dragon wondered just how much he saw and how much was missed.

Startlement at the presence of another person so near to him (along with an instinctive, aborted twitch to move away from said presence looming at his bedside), confusion as to the identity of the other room’s occupant (that lasted longer than what was likely usual due to his sub-par albinistic eyesight), recognition at last, then an amalgamation of fear (likely of Chase himself, understandable from his prior treatment of the boy and Chase’s own nature), confusion again (how could the boy know why they were there, let alone where _there_ was), shock (at being alive, perhaps?), what looked to be… disappointment (also at being alive? Chase felt oddly troubled at the thought of Jack being so intent on death, but pushed it to the back of his mind to be analyzed at a later time), and finally that emotion again… _love_ (it was never absent in his gaze, Chase realized; he had always just dismissed it).

The knowledge that even now, amongst all of the turbulent emotions and unknown circumstances the boy woke to, Jack would hold that unswerving devotion for him… it was _bewildering_ to the warlord. Absolutely _baffling._

He had to explore this further, and it seemed that he would have plenty of time to do so. After all, Jack had a long road to recovery ahead of him judging by his current condition. Chase was expecting this the moment that he saw the state of Jack’s soul. It was half-destroyed, and souls could not be healed the same way that physical bodies could be, not with magic.

The only way to restore a soul to its original state was through a great deal of time and care that could not be trusted to a program, no matter how advanced. It was a well-known fact amongst the Xiaolin and Heylin circles that Jack Spicer was a team of one; he programmed his bots to take care of him, though ‘take care of’ was used _very_ loosely, and patch him up after every defeat. And as the boy’s parents were never around (Chase knew this much at least) and there didn’t seem to be a single other soul in the world to care for Jack, the task fell to Chase. He accepted it with little resistance, especially when looking down at the quiet thing laying docilely beneath the covers, blinking sleepily up at him.

The boy was not in any state to look after himself; if his physical condition didn’t render him helpless first, then he would easily become overwhelmed by any environment outside of a controlled space. What Chase was currently seeing before him was Jack Spicer at his most _raw_ sense of self, fully exposed without any of his outer layers of loud, obnoxious personality to hide it… or protect it. He was stripped to his base. Base thoughts; base desires; base _fears._

Not feral, no Jack still understood what was going on around him, could still converse like a normal person, but his mind was laid bare, bringing to light and forcing him to acknowledge any thoughts that he might have once been able to suppress. Chase pitied the boy; such exposure was not easy to handle, especially when one was so very weak to begin with.

He would care for Jack, at least until the albino was whole once more and then… well he would see how he felt when that time came. Such spontaneity was not new to him; he’d lived for fifteen hundred years, of course he would have his whims and experiments. But this time… it felt different. He supposed it was because he’d never decided to try ‘love’, merely fads such as opium (not bad) and Ouija boards (a terribly unpredictable and unreliable method to contact the spirits).

Perhaps it was for the best, the dragon surmised, gazing into the fire on from across the room, that he looked after Jack in this state. It was an opportunity to become familiar with the boy himself rather than the squealing baboon he hid under, and understand the root of his love for Chase. And he would prefer to know Jack’s true self if there was any possibility of him ever… _returning_ those affections– was he _truly_ considering this? He had half a mind to check with the Fountain of Hui if he was under the influence of a spell _(curse)_ or potion, but knew that he would have sensed any magic attempting to manipulate himself, especially with his recent influx of power.

But this was _Jack Spicer_ he was considering taking on as a… a _what,_ exactly? A _lover?_ The boy still smelled quite strongly of virginity and often proved to be little more than a tangle of flailing, uncoordinated limbs; any attempt at coupling would likely reward the warlord with an accidental-though-no-more-enjoyable elbow to the nose or knee to the groin. Then what would the boy be to him? A companion? Chase had little idea as to what sort of decent company Jack might make, nor what they could even talk over, but this idea at least held some feasibility. He could accept the younger man’s love and adoration, and perhaps even allow some fondness in return.

If he found Jack’s true personality to be not only bearable but pleasant, he would make a place at his side for the boy to live out his mortal life. Chase turned his eyes back down to look at Jack, taking in the now peacefully sleeping face that remained turned towards him, and smirked; this love business didn’t seem to be all that difficult, after all.

“Welcome back, Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHAHAH CHASE YOU FOOL! Honestly, I kinda feel bad for the poor guy. He is in for an emotional roller coaster after centuries of only riding the teacups. XD

**Author's Note:**

> ... did anyone like it? Hate it? Anything I could improve upon? Please tell me in the comments!  
>  (And I don't mind any constructive criticism, but please no flames. It's not that I can't take some slander, but I just find it rude.)


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